The Killer Who Stole My Heart
by xGloryHartx
Summary: Hidan is a talented homicide detective, but he may have met his match in Jack of Hearts, a ruthless serial killer hell-bent on a showdown between them. And amidst all this, he is developing feelings for a handsome banker, who also happens to be a suspect!
1. I

**Hello there, its Glory again. ^^ This is the first chapter of my first AU fic, and it just so happens to be a KakuzuxHidan! It will be primarily from Hidan's POV, and is rated for coarse swearing, graphic violence, yaoi, and my first attempt at lime. (I haven't gathered the guts to write a lemon just yet. Sorry. XD)**

**Just a quick comment; I know that The Weasel was a killer from a few of James Patterson's books, but I just couldn't think of another alias that would befit Itachi, and so it had to be so.**

**I don't own Naruto in any way, shape, or form.**

* * *

_The Weasel smirked as his ebonite eyes slid closed momentarily. The brief expression had a rather frightening effect in comparison to his normally dead-pan features, and caused his victim to shiver slightly, though his brilliant roan eyes remained defiant and angry. The Weasel had chosen this man for exactly that reason; he was tough, and promised to be difficult to break._

_"Everybody has their limit." he stated in a monotone, flicking aside his raven bangs with a pale hand. "And I _will _find yours." his latest victim was a little over average height, rangy, well-built, and almost as pale as he was. The difference between the two skin tones was that this man's was a pleasant, creamy alabastor, and his own was a pasty, bleached, paper-like shade. The man had silky silver hair, a few strands dangling loosely in his face, sticking to his forehead, and contrasting with those pink-ish eyes; an albino. Said albino snarled angrily._

_"Fuck you." he growled, clenching his fists from where they were tied behind his back, hissing as the cables that kept them there chafed his wrists, which were already bleeding, the crimson rivulets making his hands sticky. The cable that bound both his ankles and wrists was also tied in a relaxed noose around his neck, and would tighten if he struggled. He had learned that quickly, as the red marks on his pale neck could testify._

_"Hn." The Weasel smirked again. "Korikatamari-san; if I didn't know better, I'd say you were enjoying this..." he tapped his chin with a well-manicured, black-painted fingernail. "Why would that be?" this was a side of The Weasel that the public had never seen. To those who thought they knew him, he was a quiet, serious, vaguely-shy boy named Uchiha Itachi. In his second year of college, attempting to major in psychology, and while not truely pleasant in conversation, completely harmless, with a flawless record. He only ever broke the facade when he pulled off his public mask and became his favorite persona; the one he now occupied. _

_The albino smirked, coughing up a bit of blood from the slow-leaking wound in his gut, but it was quickly wiped away by what The Weasel said next._

_"Perhaps the sadomasochistic tendencies you picked up at a young age?" he strode over to a worktable that was stationed within the basement they were occupying, picking up a manila folder and flipping through it with interest. "Now, who might have instilled that in you...ah. Here we are. Korikatamari Joufu; your father, yes?" his victim stiffened, fear flashing through his eyes at the mention of the name, which then turned into flaming rage._

_"Don't you fucking _dare _bring that douche into this!" he howled, eyes alighting with a crazed anger._

_"Now, now; don't get touchy." another smirk. "I'm only changing my methods a bit. I _am_ a psychology student, you know. I specialize in pushing people's buttons."_

_"You're also a fucking freakshow." the man growled, everything about him oozing hate. "Uchiha Itachi, orphaned at age thirteen, when your_ entire fucking family_ was slaughtered, except for your little brother, who later committed fucking _suicide!_ We know what you did, you little cunt! You killed your family, you sick bastard! How do you fucking _live _with yourself?!" The Weasel chuckled, just once._

_"When the tables are being turned on you, insult your opponent, try to get a rise out of them. A rudamentary interogation technique, Korikatamari-san. You'll have to do better to best me. Now, let me have a look at my intel again..." he licked his finger and thumbed through the folder. "Ah, you were taken in to protective custody after your father beat yourself and killed your mother, yes? Oh, and you were only six years old, too."_

_"Shut up!" the albino yelled, eyes flashing. _

_"Medical examination showed signs of beatings going back as far as four years, as well as knife scars along your arms; kitchen knives was the assumption."_

_"You're going to hell, you little fuck!"_

_"Your poor mother; so frail, quite beautiful too. A real goddess. This autopsy report I've procured, for example; Korikatamari Hanaichi, bludgeoned to death..." The Weasel turned the folder so that his prisoner could see the photo of a gorgeous albino woman, white as snow with delicate features and long, pale hair. She had been beaten so badly, though, that these features were hardly recognizable._

_"SHUT UP!" the albino was practically howling now, angry tears stinging at his eyes._

_"You healed so miraculously, though. The doctor's said it was on the verge of being supernatural..." he paused, his eyes closing again as he put down the folder. "Well, I've got a little oddity myself...supernatural, one might call it..." he smirked, then stepped forward to the man who was now yanking vainly at his binds, choking himself in his rage. "Relax...I want you alive a little longer..." he reached out and touched the albino's temple with two slender fingers, then opened his eyes. They were a bloody crimson, and his victim was entranced, falling still as the pigment withdrew from The Weasel's eyes, showing the color of the blood behind his irises so vividly._

_"We're going to go back in time a ways..." the voice was alluring, but definitely disturbing. "To a time you've always tried to forget..." he smirked as he began the process of hypnotism. What he had meant by oddity was his ability to drain the pigment from his eyes, making them appear red, but the truely extraordinary thing he could do, was hypnotize his victims, as he often liked to. It came so easily to him, it was like breathing. The thrill of really getting inside a person's head almost made him forget how damaging his little eye-trick was to his vision if used for too long._

_"You're in your house in the Projects. Can you see it? The little clapboard flat where you and your family live?"_

_"Yes..." the man whispered dazedly._

_"Good. Now, I want you to listen closely. Its quiet in there tonight, but you can still hear something. It sounds like whimpering; do you remember?"_

_"I dun...dun wanna..." brows furrowed above those hazy eyes. He was resisting; The Weasel pushed harder. _

_"You have to. You're going into the next room; what do you hear?"_

_"Shouting..." the man murmured. "Cryin' too..."_

_"Mm-hmm..." Itachi smirked as he kept eye contact with his victim. "Now, I want you to remember everything that happened after that. Everything..." the man nodded, and he seemed to drift off, before coming back with a vengeance._

_He was screaming. Screaming and writhing and choking himself all over again as fresh tears of pain and anger poured from his eyes, more blood forcing itself from his stomach as his cries were choked. He could see it all happening; all over again. He had to make it stop! He had to-_

XXX

I jolted awake with a start, screaming bloody murder as I clawed at my own neck, trying to remove those damn steel cables that were keeping me from breathing. It was only when I heard someone banging on my floor from the apartment below that I realized there _were_ no cables; there was no damp-smelling basement. No Weasel. No hazy flashes of memories best forgotten. I fell back onto my bed, sweating profusely and panting, shuddering with the after-image of my nightmare.

It had been happening like that for awhile. At first I'd thought I was getting off easy; I'd been sleeping like a log for a month after I was rescued from The Weasel's lair, but things don't always go down the way we'd like. About a week prior I had started having this recurring nightmare; reliving that night so vividly its as if it was real. I hated it so damn much.

Rolling over onto my side, facing my nightstand, I grabbed my rosary, a silver circle with an inverted triangle inside of it, from beneath the lamp, clutching it tightly in my shaking hand. That's when I noticed the clock; five in the morning.

Ah, well. Better than three, like last time.

Sitting up, trying to clear my head, I swung my legs out of bed, letting my head fall into my hands. I knew I wasn't going to be getting any more sleep until late tonight.

I stood up, stretched, and groaned quietly as my back popped, then ran my fingers through my hair and headed for the bathroom, fully intent on a freezing cold shower.

Planting my palms on the counter, I stopped to look at myself in the mirror. I hadn't changed much since that time in the cellar with The Weasel. I'm a bit over average height, maybe a pound or two underweight, but my muscles are still cut and defined, which I'm rather proud of. I'll admit I'm a little vain at times.

My skin is extremely pale, my hair is white/silver (I usually keep it slicked back, but at the moment it was all over the place. I get serious bedhead.) And my eyes...Jashin, my eyes are the bane of my existence. No matter how many times I insist that _they're fucking _roan _damnit! _there's always someone to tell me they're pink. I do not have fucking pink eyes!

I ran a hand over my face, rubbing the bridge of my nose sleepily, then turned on the shower as cold as I could. If I don't get doused in ice water first thing in the morning I'll fall back asleep while I'm driving to work, and on a motorcycle, that's not exactly the greatest thing. Especially considering that I don't wear a helmet.

I sighed as the water hit my skin and spattered my face, feeling myself gradually start to wake up, pull out of my nightmare. It'd been almost two months since Uchiha Itachi killed himself, and nearly took me along with him.

My name's Korikatamari Hidan, and I'm a homicide detective for the Rain Country Police Department. I had recently been investigating a case of over twenty related murders spanning over a sixth month period of time, apparently committed by a serial killer who identified himself as The Weasel. His modus operandi had been to torture his victims until they begged for death, and then grant their wish. He would often dump the body in some nondescript building, then set it on fire. Yeah; a pyromaniacal murderer. Needless to say, we'd been putting a large majority of our resources into it.

Unfortunately, we got close enough to threaten him. We caught wind of a psychology student who'd transferred from Konoha a year prior who was operating under some suspicious circumstances. It seemed pretty damn unlikely that such a scrawny kid could do all the things he did, but there was no doubt in my mind when I woke up in that cellar to that damned face.

I have to admit, I did kind of enjoy the physical torture. I've been a hardcore masochist most of my life, but when I discovered just how far he'd dug into my past, I started getting disturbed. I'm a little fuzzy on what happened after that. All I know is that I had the most vivid dream of my life, and that dream showed every single detail of the night my mom was murdered, like a fucking home movie.

I woke up in the hospital, and was later told by Konan, my partner, foster sister and best friend, that I'd been out for three days. Apparently she and the Chief somehow managed to figure out where I was being held, but when they set up a perimeter around the building their calls inside weren't answered, and within two minutes the place was on fire. I mean, like, inferno fire here. The bastard had set it up from the beginning, and let himself get burned alive.

Luckily for me, some rubble had fallen over me, and the worst fire damage I got was from smoke inhalation.

"I swear, you must have a fuckin' angel looking out for you!" when she said that I almost laughed at the irony. She did come pretty damn close.

You see, I may be a cop, but I ain't no saint. I'm a priest, actually, but most people would consider me evil if they knew just what _kind _of priest I am. You ever heard of Jashinism? I doubt it. The religion's pretty much died out by now. When I was fifteen the creepy old hobo I'd seen wandering the park found me cutting in the public restroom. I've never been suicidal, but there was something about how much blood I'd shed that he seemed to like. I told him to fuck off, and he said something along the lines of; "I like your spunk, kid." and told me to follow him.

Now, I'm not stupid. Even back then I wasn't the type to follow around hobos, but he got me curious. I followed him to the bench he always sat at, and he asked me why I hurt myself. I told him it was none of his damned business and to piss off. He laughed, and I punched him in the face. Yes, I've always been this violent.

I remember explicitly what he said to me then.

_"Do you cause yourself pain because you think you deserve it?"_

_"Hell no! I'm not like those emo pussies!"_

_"Then why? Why shed your own blood? Do you like it? Do you like pain?" I was quiet for awhile._

_"So what if I do?" he smiled, and I was startled by how white his teeth were. I always thought hobo teeth were all yellow and crooked. He reached into his ratty coat and pulled a necklace over his head, holding it out to me. I could see that his arms were deeply scarred all over; wounds I automatically recognized as self-inflicted._

_"This is a Jashinite rosary." he told me as I cautiously took the silver pendant. The string consisted of spherical metal beads, and dangling from that was a circular symbol, with an upside-down triangle within. "It is what connects me to Jashin-sama, my God..."_

_"'the fuck? I don't buy into all that religious bullshit. God never did nothin' for me. Fuck him!" the hobo grinned again._

_"The heathen God you speak of is not Jashin-sama. Unlike that false idol, Jashin-sama rewards his followers generously for their sacrifices. Would you listen to me preach, boy? I would ask but a few minutes of your time; it isn't often I find a young man with such promise." I didn't respond, but preach he did._

_"Jashin-sama is an old god, and unlike these so-called gods of the modern day, does not believe in the goodness of mankind. He is the essence of human instincts, impulses and desires. He does not believe in martydom, but in indulgence. He knows that man is foul, and is slowly destroying the planet. That we are evil. You know this to be true also, do you not?" damn is he articulate for a hobo._

_"Damn straight." I responded, intrigued. He smiled in return, that same startlingly white smile._

_"He knows that man is the greatest of evils, and so He comes to a select few, those who acknowledge the vileness that is mankind and indulge in their instincts without regret, those who are capable of carrying out His bidding, and in return for their material service, grants them the greatest boon of all." I realized I was holding my breath. The hobo chuckled. "How old do you think I am, boy?" I cocked my head._

_"How the hell would I know? Forty, maybe?" he would probably look about that age without the scraggly beard. The hobo laughed dryly._

_"I'm seventy-odd years young, boy." I gaped. "And I have never once been to a hostpital, doctor or dentist. I have smoked since I was fifteen, but never once coughed even a drop of blood. I have been shot, stabbed, burned and beaten, but have never died. I have contracted pneumonia, hypothermia, infections, and yet here I stand, fit as a fiddle. Jashin-sama does not permit eternal life; this is impossible. He does, however, prolong it so that his priests may continue to do his bidding. Tell me, boy; if the time came when it was required of you, could you end a person's life?" I remained quiet for a bit. I had by this point beaten people within an inch of their life; that was pretty much a given if you wanted to survive in the Projects of Rain, but I had never killed before._

_"...yeah. You bet your ass I could."_ _I responded at last. The hobo looked pleased with this answer, then offered me back the rosary that I had returned to him shortly after the conversation began. _

_"Then, boy, heed me well, and consider. Become an apostle of Jashin-sama. Shed blood in the name of the Lord, and He shall save thy soul; serve as the right hand of God, and thou shalt be free..." I hesitated. It all sounded really cool the way he said it, but I'd never believed in any of that occult shit. Still, for whatever reason, I accepted the rosary. The hobo nodded in approval._

_"Put it on." I did, and I could have sworn I felt a rush of power as the metal touched my skin, but that shiver could just have been because the metal was cold. "Give me your hands." I glared at him cautiously, but did so, if reluctantly. He pulled me down with him so that we were crouching over the sidewalk, then dug his fingers into the deepest of the wounds on my arm, making me hiss in pain, though I pushed my arm towards him, rather than yanking it away. He grinned at this, then withdrew the offending digits, grabbing my other hand and smearing my fingers with my own blood. _

_His hand guiding my own, he drew the symbol from the rosary upon the cement, a dark crimson._

_"This is the symbol of Jashin-sama. Jashin-sama, who has but one comandment, and that is slaughter. If you bring a blade into the flesh of another, but do not take their life...that is the ultimate sin. Let the rain be red with your conquest, boy, and pray to the Lord in blood." he removed from his coat a tattered book, and handed it to me. I took it, and realized that it was a bible, but not the Christian kind._

_"It is written in an old dialect, but you will learn to understand it in time. Fare thee well, boy whose name I know not." and with that, he just left. I never saw him again._

Now, I know all of that sounds like some Satanic, cult-dabbling bullshit, but believe me, it ain't. I thought so too, at first. Of course, like any curious teenager, I followed the commandment anyway. I prayed to Jashin-sama daily, always drew the symbol around myself before indulging in my masochism, but it wasn't until I first took a life before He sent down a divine omen to prove His existence to me. Some bastard saw fit to mug me; just some neighborhood punk, but when I wouldn't fork over the cash he pulled a knife on me. He ran at me, and I knew I wouldn't be able to dodge or block in time, but then, by some miracle, he tripped over his own feet, fell on the knife and skewered one of his kidneys.

He was just sorta laying there, looking really surprised and choking on his own blood. Now, I was about sixteen, and I was pissed for what he'd tried to do to me, so I sorta...helped him along. I wrenched the knife around in his gut, then drew the symbol, more out of habit than anything, around us. I put my hand over his throat, then shoved the knife through it and into his jugular. And I liked it. The pain was ecstacy, the feeling of power over life and death; extraordinary. The rush of accomplishment that seared through me; it was as if some supernatural power was being pumped through my veins. I was riding high.

I remember laughing; remember the fear that maniacal shriek/cackle had inspired in the punk's eyes in his final moments. It was pure bliss.

Then there was also the time I got caught in the cross-fire of a gang turf war. I was shot twice in the chest; one missed my heart by a hair's breadth, the other barely missed my right lung. The hospital workers were baffled by my liveliness, despite having been anemic when I arrived. They said I was 'perhaps the luckiest man alive'. I was eighteen, and that was when I finally truly accepted my God's existence as true. Twice He had saved my life, and twice He had granted me that soaring joy when I sacrificed a life in his name (I brained a guy with a brick during the scuffle). I was a priest of the almighty Jashin-sama, and I didn't intend on stopping any time soon.

Now, I ain't no serial killer. I may be a psycho, but I don't have a pattern, and I don't kill frequently. The tenement of Jashinism may be slaughter, but it shouldn't be mindless. There should be purpose, thrill in it. Innocents, though just as vile as the rest of the human race, are not fit to be killed. If I were to kill indesciminately, eventually I'd have no more sons a' bitches to kill, ne? No, I kill when the opportunity arises, and you better believe I ain't got no regrets. I _love _it.

Of course, I can't tell anybody about it. I still need to function in normal society. That's part of the reason I became a cop; more opportunities and excuses to kill; not to mention I can weed out the _really_ bad guys. The bastards that kill people just because they _feel like it_. They're fucking heathens with no purpose in life, and most of them are atheists. Godless cunts. Fuckers that deserve the end of my blade, or the barrel of my gun (whichever is on hand at the time). I'm not manic; nope. I just get excited when I talk about my God. Hell, now I finally understand what's so appealing about being a bible-thumper. If they weren't singing the Christian praises I might actually relate to them.

I switched off the shower and grabbed a towel from outside the curtain, wrapping it around my waist before stepping out and shaking my head, my hair flinging water onto the mirror and counter. Ruffling said hair with my hands to aid its drying, I left the bathroom, shuffling through my dresser for an acceptable outfit. Pein-taichou has long learned that dress-codes are useless on me, but he's damn scary if I don't show up in something decent.

I quickly decided on a pair of snugly-fit jeans, a gray wife-beater, and a black jacket, which I left unbuttoned down to my sternum. Quickly putting on my rosary, I gelled the hell out of my hair to keep it slicked back, and grabbed my keys and wallet off the kitchen counter. I was about to leave, even though I still had about and hour before I had to be at work, when I heard an indignant meow from behind me. Stopping, I turned, and grinned when I saw what created the noise. A dark ginger cat with black socks and brilliant emerald eyes was glaring up at me accusingly.

"Damn, almost forgot to feed you, huh Kamiko?" Kamiko mewed again, pawing at my ankle in an annoyed manner. "Yeah, yeah. Just a sec. Its not my fault you just up an' fucking dissapeared for two days." I grumbled as I strode into the kitchen, swiping up a piece of bread and sticking it in my mouth before grabbing the cat food out of a cupboard and refilling my cat's bowl.

Its rather extraordinary, really. Most animals seem to sense that there's something off about me, and they go fuckin' crazy when I get near them, but Kamiko's completely okay with me. She's got a seriously bad attitude, though.

"There. Itadakimasu." I snorted sarcastically, placing the bowl in front of her, and watching for a bit as Kamiko chowed down. "I'll be back at late o' clock, 'kay? Don't wait up." she ignored me, and I promptly left, waving over my shoulder, even though I knew her face was stuffed inside the bowl, and even if she could see me, the gesture would have little meaning.

XXX

This just goes to show that I spend _way_ too much of my paycheck on hair gel. I'd just driven for twenty minutes without a helmet, and yet, as I pulled my matte-black V-Strom into the parking garage nearest the precinct, my hair was still slicked back flawlessly to my scalp. I swear to Jashin I could stop a bullet if a gun was aimed point-blank at the back of my skull.

At any rate, Konan was waiting for me when I pushed open the door to the Rain Country precinct, looking stern. Oh boy.

She's a very attractive woman, if its not too bold to say; tall and willowy, with short, starkly blue hair that she keeps out of her eyes with a pin designed to look like an origami flower. Hell, I'd tap her if she wasn't technically my sister, and if I wasn't gay.

Yeah, you heard right, so fuck off. I already get enough flack from my colleages, thanks.

Anyway, that day she was trussed up in her usual, business-like manner; navy pant-suit and stately black high heels, the saphire of her eyes played down by her dark eyeshadow. She says she doesn't like to stand out, but I say that's bullshit. She's walking around with fuckin' cerulean hair for Jashin's sake! She's a natural blue, but if she really wanted to blend in she could at least dye it. I think it looks pretty cool, but she's constantly complaining about how hard it is to find jewelery and shit that matches it.

"Hidan..." shit, I knew that tone.

"Yeah?" I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled, knowing what was coming, but determined to play dumb.

"Don't 'yeah' me!" she hissed, advancing on me with a few sharp clicks of her heels on the tile floor. I noticed the receptionist cowering a little bit. As well she should; Konan's fuckin' scary. She reached me, and we engaged in a glaring match with further adue. "You skipped your apointment with your therapist." she commented bluntly, tone dripping venom.

"Hell yes I did!" I'm always the first to yell in our arguments. "I don't need that fucking quack to preach to me! I've told you, I've told Pein, and I've told her; I'm. Fine. Just 'cause I went through a 'traumatic experience'" I drew air-quotes as I spit out the last words. "-doesn't mean I have to see a shit-ass psychiatrist! I've been through worse and come out fine, so you, and Doctor What's-Her-Face, and Pein can all go fuck yourselves!" people around here are pretty used to my attitude by now, and that's why I was surprised when everything suddenly went quiet. I got this sinking feeling in my gut, and promptly slapped myself in the forehead.

"The bastard's right behind me, isn't he?" Konan ignored me, and bowed deeply to something behind and to the right of me.

"Pein-taichou." she intoned respectfully, and I turned around, cursing my luck that the _one time _the Cheif decides to leave his office happens to be right when I tell him to go fornicate with himself. And there he stood, in all his ominous, leaderly glory; flaming orange hair and dark amber eyes that seem to burn through everything they look at. This guy's got piercings _everywhere_, I kid you not. I'm not the first that's wondered how an ex-street punk could become Chief of Police, but then again, they hired me, didn't they?

"Detective Korikatamari." that's one of the many things I dislike about him. He's so damn _formal_. I ground my teeth, rolled my eyes, and bowed deeply, cheeks hot, but with anger, not embarrassment.

"Gomen nasai, Pein-taichou." he clicked his tongue softly, and I could hear his tongue piercing clink against his teeth.

"Please don't bother with manners, Hidan-san. We all know that you are perhaps the most uncouth person on this planet. If it were not for your talent, I would have fired you long ago for your insistent insubordination." I smirked briefly from my still-bowed position, then wiped it quickly from my face and straightened.

"Hai." I answered simply. Pein nodded, then turned to retreat into his office, waving a hand for me to follow. After his door closed, the rest of the room's inhabitants slowly returned to whatever they were doing previously, throwing me a few looks, to which I sneered angrily before entering my boss's office. I closed to door none too softly, then plopped down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk, which he had already seated himself behind. His office is always kind of dark, which makes him look vaguely like some weird silhouette.

"Let me first remind you of one thing, Hidan-san; you are to attend each and every one of your weekly therapy appointments with Doctor Haruno. This was my condition if you wished to remain on active duty, and avoid a mandatory leave-of-absence. You remember, yes?" nodding reluctantly, I ground my teeth.

"Good. Now that we have an understanding, I would like you to go and visit Sasori-san as soon as you can. This meaning, as soon as you leave my office." I cocked my head slightly. Akasuna Sasori is the head coroner. "He should just be finishing up the autopsy of one Hidemichi Atsue, if he's as prompt as usual. She was the victim of a rather brutal homicide in the parking lot of Karei no Ame; that club downtown, you know of it?" I nodded. "This case is a bit more serious than a single homicide, though. It shows a massive amount of similarities to a double murder a few months ago in Taki. The Waterfall PD are pushing for us to let them get involved. We need our best on this case, you understand?" I nodded again.

"But I thought you said you weren't going to let me on any high-profile cases until the whole Weasel ordeal died down." Not that I was complaining.

"Well, Hidan-san, let's just say I think this one's right up your alley. You won't want to miss it."

* * *

**Alrighty, I do believe a few translations are in order, in case you're interested. ^^**

**Hidan's non-canon last name (He had to have one. XD), Korikatamari, means 'Fanatic'. I wanted one that meant 'Zealot', but it doesn't translate. T_T**

**Joufu, the name of Hidan's non-canon father, means 'Warrior'. And Hanaichi, his non-canon (of course) mother, means 'Lonely Flower'.**

**Taichou, as Bleach fans will know, means 'Captain', or in this case, 'Chief'.**

**Kamiko, the name of Hidan's cat, means 'Child of God'.**

**Karei no Ame, the name of the club, means 'Beauty of the Rain'.**

**Hidemichi means 'Way of Gold', and Atsue means 'Beautiful Woman'.**

**And I'm sure I don't need to translate stuff like 'Itadakimasu', 'Gomen nasai', and 'Hai'. XD**

**That's about it. ^^ Hope you enjoyed the first chapter of 'The Killer That Stole My Heart'.**


	2. II

**Sorry for the delay, people. I was reading through the first chapter, and I realized that I had totally screwed up the tense. XP I wrote the first part in past tense, and the rest in present tense, so I had to go back and fix it. XD This is exactly why I haven't written a 1st person POV before. -lol- Anyway, its all fixed up, and I hope you all enjoy the next chapter! ^^**

**I own nothing but the plot of this fic, thank you very much.**

* * *

I was practically jumping for joy as I made my way down to the lower hall, where the morgue was located; absolutely pumped at the thought of a decent case. So much, in fact, that I felt like I could actually tolerate a dose of Sasori's dead-pan medical jargon. By-passing the main body of the morgue, I made directly for the observation area of the more private, single-stretcher autopsy room; Sasori's usual haunt. Sure enough, as soon as I shut the door behind me and looked through the glass pane, a shock of bright red jumped out at me amongst the various sterile shades of white and silver that dominated this area of the building.

Akasuna Sasori is actually two years older than me, but the guy looks like he's about fifteen. He's only a little over five feet, with wavy, short copper hair, tawny eyes, and fair skin. He looks for all the world like a nerdy freshman, especially when he's working on an autopsy; I swear, no human being should be able to be that intent on a corpse. If it ain't screamin', and it ain't bleedin', it ain't worth that much attention.

"You may as well come down here, Hidan-san." that's another thing; fucker's got eyes in the back of his head. He didn't even look up from his examination of the cadaver's chest cavity when I slammed the door hard enough to send a scalpel clattering off its little metal tray, simply reaching out and catching it deftly, placing it back where it belonged and adjusting his safety goggles.

"Congratulations on your reinstatement, Hidan-san." he commented softly, putting down whatever nondescript tool he'd been using to move aside some organ or another and finally looking up at me.

"Yeah, whatever; show me what ya got, Red." his eyebrow twitched slightly at the use of the nickname, and I felt a certain sense of triumph in having gotten a reaction out of him, smirking as I made my way up to the metal stretcher, looking down at its occupant. She was a pretty one, in a businesswoman sort of way; long-limbed and slender, flowing blonde hair, flawless skin and, when I checked, bright blue eyes.

"She died jointly of anemia and asphysxiation." Sasori commented, pointing to her discolored corneas, then running his fingers tenderly along her pale face, indicating the utter lack of color. "Blood-loss and suffocation." he finished before I could even ask. I nodded, raising an eyebrow.

"Doesn't look very brutal to me, she looks just fuckin' fine...other than that she's one dead bitch, I mean." Sasori sighed, rubbing at his forehead.

"Eloquent." he murmured, then opened his tawny eyes again. "But this was indeed very brutal; I've seen nothing like it in my entire career. Look." he pulled back the white sheet that was covering her body, revealing her chest. I could have sworn I felt my jaw hit the floor.

There was a Y-pattern of stiches down the center of her torso, but compared to what my eyes were fixed on, the uniform autopsial incision was a fuckin' papercut.

"Holy mother of fuck..."

"Indeed." this woman wasn't just murdered, she'd literally had her life torn right out of her chest. There was a gaping hole in the left side of her torso, ragged and torn around the edges, the insides caked with dried blood, though Sasori had cleaned her skin thoroughly. The skin fringing the wound had turned a sickly greenish hue, and I could see right through her damn chest, all the way to the metal table beneath her.

"Blunt force trauma?" I guessed; no kind of gun I knew of could have done something as precise, large, and clean-cut as this. What, had the guy run her through with a fuckin' javelin?

"Mm. It would seem so, but that's not the interesting part." I raised a brow, looking up at Sasori. He met my gaze squarely, hands clasped behind his back. "Her heart is missing. The killer tore it right out of her chest." my stomach lurched slightly; not from disgust, mind you. I love the sight of shit like this. "She choked on her own blood, though she wouldn't have been able to breathe even if her trachea had been clear of obstructions. She was dead in under a minute. Maybe even under thirty seconds. What's even more interesting..." he leaned forward and traced the circumference of her wound gently with his index finger. "Is the instrument the wound suggests he used..." he looked up at me solemnly.

"There is a high chance that the killer did this with his bare hands." I blanched, cocking my head.

"How the hell is that even fucking possible? What, the guy punched straight through her chest? Sorry to break it to ya, Dorothy, but you ain't in fuckin' Konoha anymore." Sasori raised a brow; a common form of expression for him, then shrugged one shoulder slightly.

"Look here;" he indicated the edges of the wound. "You see how the edges were torn? Whatever punched through her expanded in size before it pulled back out, likely a hand holding her heart. Knuckle marks can be distinguished on her breastbone as well, see? It shouldn't be medically possible, but whoever this was managed to break through not only the breastbone, one of the most resilient bones in the body, but several ribs as well. They make it out in movies that the heart is actually easily accesible, but it isn't; even after penetrating the ribs, he had to tear aside the lungs and completely rip the heart away from both the superior and inferior veta cava, the pulmonary artery and vein, not to mention the multiple tubes of the aorta, all in one solid yank."

"I caught about half of that." I commented, leaning back against a counter. Red let out an exasperated sigh.

"He had to sever a lot of thick tubes and break a lot of powerful bones to do this, in layman's terms. There shouldn't be a human alive whose bare hand can do something like that."

"So we're looking for one talented little shit, then."

"Little wouldn't be the word. You're looking for a male, a very, very big male with a lot of muscles."

"The polar opposite of you, you mean." I smirked devilishly.

"Ha." Sasori rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Essentially, yes, however." we were silent for a couple of seconds, then I leaned forward.

"Hey, you said there were knuckle imprints on the breastbone or some shit, right? Can't we do comparison scans with that? Like finger-printing and whatever?"

"No, unfortunately. They aren't clean enough, or distinct enough to run an accurate scan on. The bone was splintered, which leads me to something even stranger."

"It gets stranger?"

"Yes, to the chagrin of all concerned. It would seem that our killer is even more of a medical marvel than I've led you to believe thus far, in that he didn't injure himself at all, by what I can see." I cocked an eyebrow. "All of this splintered bone, there's no way the killer wouldn't have cut himself on it at some point, and yet there isn't even a trace of foreign tissue hanging from these breaks. He penetrated over an inch of solid bone with only his hand, and didn't even get a scratch to show for it. Her fingernails are terribly torn up, like she'd been scratching at something solid, but there's no skin, no wood chips, no metal-shavings, not even any dirt underneath them."

"So basically, we've got nothing." I ran my fingers through my hair in irritation. "We're looking for a guy the size of fuckin' Arnold Schwartzeneager. That narrows it down to about half the ex-convicts in the city."

"And the ones in Taki." Sasori reminded me, pulling the sheet up over the face of the woman who was once called Hidemichi Atsue. "And it isn't limited to convicts, either." I rolled my eyes again.

"Fan-fucking-tastic. I'll get on that right away."

XXX

The previously over-cast sky from earlier that morning had cleared up, and it was now bright as fuckin' July in Suna, which was why I had a pair of dark sunglasses on; one of the disadvantages to being an albino, my eyes are very photosensitive. I'd left my bike in the parking garage, opting to let Konan drive us to the crime-scene, perfectly content to prop my feet up on the dash of her silver Acura V-6, fingers laced behind my head.

"-ccording to Pein-taichou, the murders in Taki were a young couple. Howaito and Itetsu were their sur-names, if I recall. Same MO, same-Hidan, please get your feet off my dash." I flashed her a smirk, though the effect must have been a little incomplete without her being able to see my eyes, and kept right on doing it. She rolled her eyes, changing gears as the GPS alerted us to the neccesity to make a turn. She cleared her throat in annoyance.

"In any case, Taichou-sa-" I cut across her, smirk widening.

"Why's it always about Ginger-taichou, eh? We all know you want to fuck him into his desk, but seriously." her cheeks flamed a bright scarlet and she pursed her lips, promptly shutting up. Mission accomplished.

"But seriously, Imouto-tan," she crinkled her nose and scoffed at the nickname. "You realize that since dad died, I'm gonna have to interogate the shit out of him if you two start dating." I raised a hand lazily. "I'll shove this where the sun don't shine. I'll shove it so far he'll be limping for a fucking week." I wasn't referring to my blood father of course. Unabara Kiyoi, Konan's father, and the closest thing to a real dad I'd ever had. He'd died four years ago in a car accident, and Konan, Shizukesa-kaa and I still visit his grave every weekend to this day.

Konan smirked slightly; she always did appreciate my twisted sense of humor.

"We're here, _Otouto-tan_." she drawled as we pulled into the parking lot of the Karei no Ame, pulling up near a moderate congregation of police cruisers. The place seemed pretty immaculate, and you'd never have known a murder had taken place there but for the large collection of blood splatters that were currently being sampled by a few techies. Fish.

I opened the car door, kicking my legs out and sliding onto the pavement, lighting a cigarette as I slammed the door behind me. I'm not one of those chain-smokers, but I did pick up the habit about two years back; probably from that Konohan tourist with the beard and side-burns that I ran through with a sharpened metal pipe. (I ran it through both of us at the same time, actually, but that's beside the point. It felt damn good.)

"Anything?" I asked one of the officers, flashing my badge. If the guy had heard of me, that probably wasn't neccesary however; I'm kinda hard to miss.

"Don't think so." he replied, shaking his head. He was of a little over average height, a little stocky in build, with wild, spiky black hair and a strip of bandage over his nose. His badge read Kotetsu.

"Techs are looking a little frustrated, so I doubt it." his partner piped up, a slightly shorter, leaner man with a heavy forelock. Izumo, I think his name was.

"Fuck." I replied, more out of habit than frustration as I looked around the immediate area. Starbucks and Taco Bell across the street, moderate traffic, neon sign above the door into the club depicting a scantily-clad red-head holding an umbrella, clinging to a lamp-post by one leg. I'd been to the club before, and it was usually pretty crowded at night, which seemed the likely time of the murder. Hopefully someone had seen something.

"Anyone managed to track down any possible witnesses? Names from booze reciepts, late-night coffee goers? Anybody who might have seen anything?" I asked, scratching the nape of my neck absently. The one named Kotetsu answered.

"Not yet, Korikatamari-senpai. Hopefully someone will be getting on that soon; its not exactly in our jurisdiction." I nodded, waving my hand lazily before before making my way towards the barrier of yellow tape, badging my way through and striding up to where Konan already stood, arms crossed under her breasts as she observed the techies working with the blood.

"Nothing worth a shit, looks like." I commented as I came up beside her, copying her pose as I took off my sunglasses, ignoring the sting in the back of my eyes as I more closely examined the scene. "Red told me the bastard didn't get a single injury out of it. All this blood; gonna be nothing but hers. Damnit..." Konan 'tsk'ed in agreement, massaging her temple with one well-manicured hand.

"From what these guys say," she waved a dismissive hand at the kneeling techs, one of whom was staring at her chest out of the corner of his eyes (I shot him a withering deathglare that nearly made him shit himself). "-there's not a single fiber, a single hair that even suggests there was another person with her last night. Whoever this bastard is, he's careful. Methodical. Maybe even obsessive." I shook my head.

"Doesn't match the profile. If we've really got a budding pattern-killer, I don't think he's one of those OCD bitches. Method's too violent."

"Then he's aggressive, but smart. I think we can rule out copy-cat killing; I mean, how many people are there out there that can actually do something like this?" I nodded, furrowing my brows.

"I think I'm gonna go talk to the club employees, show around the autopsy photo to see if we got anyone who could give us an initial lead. You take Starbucks or Taco Bell?" I looked over my shoulder at her, and she nodded, striding off immediately across the street while I approached Karei no Ame.

This time of day it was closed, but the owner had been called over when the first cops showed up, and two bartenders plus a janitor had been drawn out by the sirens. I pulled the owner aside first; a tall, white-haired geezer with a wart on one side of his nose and red tattoos running down either cheek. I'd heard before that, aside from owning a club that was notorious for having to escort drunken women out for being 'indecent', he was also a rather renowned porn writer. Lovely. He'd even been arrested once for peeping, according to his rap sheet. I reached into the back pocket of my jeans and pulled out a photo of the girl from this morning, handing it to him.

"Hidemichi Atsue. You see her last night?" I raised a brow as the geezer examined the photo, eyes sparkling with glee.

"Naw, but what a beauty!" he giggled. "Know where I can get a number?" I sneered disgustedly, snatching the photo.

"She's dead, dickhead. This _is _a fucking _murder_ investigation." I swept my hand around the indicate the crime scene tape, and multiple techs snapping pictures of possible 'evidence'. The old guy's face fell a bit, then he looked over his shoulder at one of the bartenders; a scrawny guy with a navy bandanna and dark glasses. Speaking of which, my head was starting to ache like a bitch from the damned sunlight.

"Oi, Ebisu, come over here." the man obliged, adjusting his shades as he glanced at me suspiciously. "You see this little lady last night? Around-?" he looked at me questioningly.

"Between eleven and three is what we believe." I finished for him, holding up the photo. The man called Ebisu took it, studying it closely as he adjusted his glasses again.

"Mmm...no." he answered at last, shaking his head slowly. "I was working all night. If she had been there, I would have known." he shook his head a final time, handing back the picture.

"There anyone else I could ask?" Ebisu tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"Neither of them were working around that time." he jerked his thumb towards the other bartender and the janitor. "But maybe you could talk to Kurenai-san. I can give you a number if you want."

"Kure-?" I was cut off by the old geezer, who was drooling a little.

"Our best waitress." he said, grinning like a child with a lollipop. "Impossible to miss her; brunette beauty with the," he moved his hands in circular motions in front of his chest. "And the," he drew an hour-glass shape in the air.

"Right, don't cream your jeans, dipshit. Just tell me when she'll be working and I'll drop by." Ebisu snickered before responding.

"Tonight after eight, I believe. I'll be there too, so just look for me."

"Thanks." I nodded slightly, glad that for once someone was being cooperative.

"Anything you need, Officer." I gave a mock salute, now completely ignoring the owner as I turned around, scratching the back of my head as I examined the scene again. I could only hope that Konan was having better luck over at Starbucks, or wherever it was she went. So early in the case, and it sucked.

"_HEY!_" my head snapped up insurprise at the sharp call in time to see a flustered techie come stumbling out of an alley. I could only assume he was really new at this, because he promptly doubled over and vomited all over the pavement.

"Hey, hey! What the hell?! You're contaminating the crime scene you little fuck!" I stormed up to him, waving my arms angrily. He heaved another quart of his stomach contents onto the ground, then looked up at me with panicked hazel eyes.

"I..." his voice broke. "I-I..."

"Spit it out!" I grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up.

"_I found another body!_" at this point, if someone hadn't been looking before, everyone was looking now.

"What...?" I released his collar. "Where?!" he got to his feet shakily, pointing down the alley he had come from.

"Turn immediately left from the alley. He's...he's hidden from sight by the dumpster..." I nodded, clapping the techie on the back briefly.

"Get a hold of yourself, you fucking woman. Let the big boys take it from here." the tech nodded vaguely, stumbling out of the way as I made hurriedly for the aforementioned location. Before I even spotted the dumpster, I knew the fish had been right. The smell of death was in the air. Most people were too desensitized to notice it, but my senses, especially in the presence of blood, are peaked. I know blood, I know death, and I definitely know what they smell like.

And I know what they look like.

And let me tell you; this guy was fuckin' _dead_.

Leaned against the dumpster was what looked like a hobo. Ratty, baggy clothes, shaggy beard, sun-roughened, leathery skin. But he was pale as all get out, bluish in places, and he'd just started to smell. Judging by the coloration, I guessed he'd been in a freezer for a day or two. So...killed about three days prior?

I moved aside his coat and tore open his shirt, only to be greeted by a gaping hole. His heart had been removed. Violently.

Fuck.

Suddenly Konan was at my side, looking over my shoulder.

"Whoa..." she murmured. "_Way _dead." I nodded, checking his pockets for identification, cursing fluently when I came up blank.

"What the hell's wrong with his throat?" Konan asked, pressing her fingers to his neck. "Its distended." Indeed, it looked like something was lodged in the fucker's esophagus.

"Lessee." I grunted, prying open his mouth, forcing through the rigor-mortis, only to freeze, stock still. I could vaguely hear Konan warning me about protocols, but that didn't seem important at the moment. What _did _seem important was how damned _white _Mr. Homeless's teeth were. _Why is that so damn familiar...?_

"Hidan?" I wasn't hearing Konan anymore. That weird sense of deja vu was hitting me hard. _A hobo; their teeth are supposed to be all yellow and gnarly, aren't th...ey...?_

And then it hit me. It hit me hard.

I gasped, opening the hobo's eye with a thumb, then made a slightly strangled noise in the back of my throat. They were bright blue; bright, icy blue. _Just like..._

He'd aged quite a bit since we'd last met. What...almost ten years prior? I'd thought he was dead...

_It was the hobo from the park. The Jashinite hobo..._

XXX

They always say that criminals tend to return to the scene of the crime, and everybody always says; 'That's bullshit! Who would be that crazy?!'. The killer chuckled as he thought of that, watching the scene intently from his position perched upon the roof of a nearby apartment complex, chewing on his thumbnail absently.

_Apparently I am, though we already knew that, didn't I? _he chuckled again, bright yellow eyes sliding shut as he ran a hand through his scruffy, short-cut hair. He examined his nails briefly before his attention was captured again. A silver car had just pulled up to the scene. _Plainclothesmen perhaps? _The killer cocked his head, scratching the pale left side of his face, simultaneaously licking his teeth in a curious gesture, one of his strange mannerisms.

Indeed, two badges exited the car; a male and a female. The female wandered over to the tape, sliding under and approaching the bloodier area of the scene, while the male stopped to talk with the two uniforms nearest him. He was moderately tall, pale as hell, casually-dressed, and rather handsome.

"Korikatamari Hidan, I'm guessing?" he muttered, chewing his nail again. He had researched some of his possible adversaries, and Korikatamari-san had been one of the most decorated he'd read of.

"**A worthy opponent.**" his voice seemed warped the second time he spoke; more gravelly.

"Mm...yes." the man was talking with the woman he'd arrived with now; both looked a little frustrated. "Oh yes, I'm just that good, aren't we?" he giggled to himself. When the two went their separate ways, probably to question potential witnesses, the killer turned around, groping around behind him vaguely, and quickly found a large ziploc bag, growling in appreciation.

_Within the bag was a human heart._

"**So delicious...**so very worth the trouble..." he withdrew the organ from the bag, imagining what it would be like if the thing was still beating, still warm in his hand. He would have preferred it warm. Fresher. Warm was so much better.

But nevertheless, he pulled it close to his mouth, and ran his tongue slowly across its surface, eyes closing in ecstacy at the aphrodisiatic taste. He shuddered in anticipation, then lunged, ripping a bite out of the lump of flesh, tearing open one of the ventricles as he moaned in pleasure; blood and various other fluids flooding his mouth and dribbling down his chin, down his neck. He feasted, eyes rolling back into his head as he pulpated the organ with his hand. It was his prize, his reward, so _delicious._

But he had to keep watching...the loud cry he heard was evidence enough of that...

Abandoning his bounty for later, he moved back to the edge of the roof, striking eyes landing on the crime scene again. The male plainclothesman was bent over a rookie, who appeared to have emptied his guts on the ground. Moments later, Korikatamari-san bolted for the alley.

_So they've found it at last...**took them long enough**..._

The killer grinned in a twisted manner, moving so that he could get a better view of Korikatamari-san, watching as the blue-haired planclotheswoman made her way towards the source of the commotion from the Starbucks across the street. It was only moderately interesting to watch, really...

And then Korikatamari-san gasped, his jaw dropping visibly, and he did something to the cadaver's eyes. This caused him to stumble back a step, opening and closing his mouth like a choking fish.

_Hmm...**that's odd.**_

He cocked his head again. Did Korikatamari-san know that old bonebag? How? The old man hadn't seemed that relevant..._until I tasted his heart...**simply exquisite, so...so...**marvelous..._

And then he could take it no longer. The killer dived for the half-eaten heart, devouring it in but a few seconds.

**Delicious, delicious...**

* * *

**Liked it? Loved it? Hated it? Drop me a review! I've actually decided to respond to them this story 'round. ^^**

**skydreia;; Thanks. ^^ Its my first time writing a fic this way, so I would hope it was turning out okay.**

**Nisroc;; Well, aside from bounty hunter, there really isn't another job he could logically have. XDD**

**some random person;; -blushing- Well, thank you! And don't worry, there's no way in Hell I'd abandon this fic. I took your advice to heart and fixed the sentence structure a bit in the first chapter. I appreciate your constrctive criticism. ^^**

**Sado-Masochism;; I do try. ^^ And I'm glad you enjoyed my other fic; I have a bit of a KakuHi obsession myself.**

**Namantos;; But of course. :D**

**animemaniac202;; I wasn't asking what they meant, I already knew; I was commenting that most fic readers already know what they mean, but thanks anyway. ^^**

**Friglit;; I knew I'd have to put some sort of religious thing into this, and a hardcore Christian Hidan just didn't work. XD I've heard good things about Dexter, but I've never seen it myself. Perhaps I should. Is it any good?**

**Translations:**

**Unabara, Konan's [non-canon] last name, means 'Ocean' or 'Sea'.**

**Kiyoi, the name of Konan's [non-canon] father, means 'Noble', and Shizukesa, Konan's [non-canon -_- Bleh I get tired of saying that] mother means 'Serenity' or 'Calm'.**

**Imouto means 'little sister', and the honorific '-tan' is used like '-chan', but is in a mocking sense, like baby-talk. Otouto means 'little brother'. Hidan and Konan each refer to the other as a younger sibling because Hidan is actually older than Konan, but Konan sees herself as the more mature of the two.**

**Just in case anyone doesn't know, the honorific '-senpai' is generally used when talking to someone you work with who is of a higher rank than you.**


	3. III

**I know, I know. Its been over a month since I updated. I was a lazy bastard (what else is new?), but I HAVE NOT abandoned this fic. No way in hell. Here it is- ze next chapter. Kakuzu makes his first appearance here. I would've liked to put a bit more of him in here, but things just didn't work out that way. In fact, that was half the reason it took me so long to update; I wanted to make everything flow to my liking, which it didn't for some time. Anyway, here is the finished version, any typos I may have missed notwithstanding, and I swear I will be updating more promptly in the future.**

**Don't own it. Wish I did. Will have to be content with owning the AU in which the characters are living. Hurm.**

* * *

"Hidan? Hidan, are you okay?" I returned my gaze to Konan after watching the EMS truck take the old man's body away, feeling a little sick.

"Yeah, yeah; I'm fine." I assured her, schooling my expression. "Just feeling a little queasy. When I opened his mouth a wave of stink hit me right in the fuckin' face." I wrinkled my nose for emphasis. Konan raised a brow at me skeptically, but I must have been convincing enough, because she turned back to the scene for a moment, nodded curtly, then turned back towards her car.

"Alright then. Let's leave this to these guys." she jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "I got a number for the Starbuck's clerk that was on duty last night; I'll give him a call back at the precint. Let's get back and wait for Sasori-san's verdict on the male." I nodded, sliding into the passenger's seat again, not bothering with my seatbelt as I leaned back.

What I was feeling wasn't grief, or sadness; that I knew. I'd felt grief when mom died, a bit of sadness when Kiyoi-tou-san died, and now I just felt...odd. I mean, I'd only seen the guy once, and I didn't even know his fucking name! It was just weird to recognize a cadaver, I guess. I couldn't help but wonder where he'd gone after that day; and why he'd actually managed to get killed. Jashin-sama protects his disciples so that they might better do his bidding; did the old guy just give up? Did he stop being useful? It was a strange thought.

No, I felt no regret of any kind for his death, but it was a new experience for me. Foreign.

I flipped on the radio as we passed the intersection of Fifth and Seventh, reclining slightly and placing my feet back on Konan's dash as Avenged Sevenfold began radiating from the speakers, filling the empty silence.

"Hidan..." I looked up to see Konan glancing at me out of her peripherals.

"Mm?" she sounded tense, worried even.

"Another double homicide; same method. You do realize we could be dealing with another Weasel here, right? The press are gonna be all over this, especially when they find out you're the one working the case." I raised a brow, hiking my shades down my nose a bit so I could see her better.

"Yeah, so?" she bit her lip. Not a good sign.

"Well, Hidan...maybe its too soon. I mean, what you went through in there...You talk tough, Hidan, and I know you don't like it when people fuss over you, but I worry." she sighed, removing one hand from the steering wheel to rub her temple lightly. I felt the distinct urge to snap at her, but I dismissed it quickly; something I would not have done for anyone else.

"Hey, Konan, I'm fine. Just fuckin' peachy, see?" I spread my arms slightly to indicate myself, and Konan laughed quietly.

"Who says 'peachy' anymore, Hidan?" she asked, raising a brow at me teasingly.

"All the cool kids are doing it." I replied in the most matter-of-fact voice I could muster, raising a finger sagely. Konan snorted in laughter, then abruptly slammed on the brakes as the taxi in front of us suddenly stopped to let out its passenger, right there in the lane.

"Oi!" she shouted angrily, rolling down the window as she honked her horn. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, asshole?! Get out of the road!"

"Shit, Konan, calm down! You need to get laid!" I jested, poking her in the arm as she rolled the window back up, fuming as she switched lanes to get around the taxi.

"-should give that dick a ticket..." she trailed off in a mumble, then jabbed my side in retaliation. "Like that isn't what you do on a daily basis. Maybe _you're _the one who needs to get laid. How long has it been since you were even in any semblance of a relationship, anyway?" I opened my mouth to reply. "-And one-night-stands with guys you pick up at bars don't count." My mouth closed again, and I really had to think about it.

"Fuck...a while, I guess. I dunno." looking up at the cieling, I furrowed my brows in concentration. "Probably not since I was a fish in college..." I shrugged. "Why?"

"You should get out more often, meet someone. I think it'd be a positive influence for you." I snorted indignantly, flashing her my Sex-God Smirk(tm) as I tried to shift the topic.

"So you're the fucking Love Guru now? And exactly _how long _have you been trying to seduce Pein?" it never fails, if ever she's getting all Big Sister on me, all I have to do is pull the Pein card. She's liked him since highschool, when she fell for the 'hot upper-classman', and a few months ago we came up with a deal; if she doesn't fuck him by her next birthday, I 'accidentally' let it slip that she carries condoms in her purse whenever she goes to work, and that she fantasizes about banging him on his desk. Personally, I hope it comes down to that, 'cause the look on his face would be fucking _hilarious_.

"Hidan, love and lust are two different things. I'm not talking about you getting a fuck-buddy here, I mean someone you can actually _relate_ to, someone that doesn't require you to have any inner walls." she blushed a bit, but plowed on mercilessly.

"Okay, okay. Fuck, Konan! I'll...I'll think about it, okay?" I wasn't sure why the topic made me so uncomfortable, but I was very relieved when she let it go.

XXX

I was asleep at my desk, drooling on a case file I'd been 'reading' when I was abruptly smacked upside the head with what felt suspiciously like a wet noodle. I jerked up, ready to punch my assailant in the face, only to find myself looking into the amused black eyes of Hoshigaki Kisame, the department ballistics expert. In truth, he didn't come up here a lot, as he was usually running the shooting range about a block down, which was public use, though it was usually occupied by officers.

"What the hell?!" I shouted, noting what I had mistaken for a noodle, which was actually a rat-tailed* hand-towel, was being twisted in his hands for another strike. Kisame grinned sharkily, revealing his self-sharpened teeth, then plopped down in my spare chair, waving jauntily.

"Just wanted to see how you were doing, Hidan-san. You've been too busy to come over to the range lately, ne? Or are you giving me the cold shoulder?" he pouted in a most un-manly fashion; all seven feet of him. That's one thing about Kisame; he's fuckin' _huge_. He's also blue, to make matters stranger. Its some weird skin condition; his entire body is a pale blue, and I mean _everything_ (We were drunk, I doubt he remembers anything). His hair sticks almost straight up, a darker blue than Konan's, and he had two shallow V's tattooed on each of his solid, slightly hollowed cheekbones, completing the look of some sort of weird shark-man hybrid.

"Fuck you!" I growled fixing the various wayward papers on my desk into a semi-acceptable arrangement, then kicked the leg of Kisame's chair from underneath it. It didn't move an inch.

"Hidan-san, that hurt." he pressed a gigantic hand to an equally gigantic chest (very muscular, I'll add), pretending to be close to tears.

"Yeah, yeah, go crawl off into your emo-corner and die." I snorted, getting up and striding over to a mini-fridge I'd managed to procure a few months ago. "Coke? Don't have anything stronger, sorry. Regulations or some shit."

"Just water, if you have it, please." Another thing, he's way too damned _polite. _I keep telling him, big guys aren't supposed to be gentlemen, as a general rule, but his parents brought him up way too well. Hell if I know how we're friends; we're polar opposites, but I'll corrupt him yet. Mwahaha.

I chucked a bottle of Dasani at him, deliberately aiming for his face. Unperturbed, he caught it, flashing that kitchen-knives grin again. He's gotten pretty used to my rough behavior by now, which continues to surprise me; most people can't stand me, and he manages to take it in his stride. Grabbing a can of Coca-Cola, I threw myself back into my chair, propping my legs up on my desk.

"So what the hell are you doing here anyway? Who's handling the range?" he shrugged, leaning back in his chair.

"I closed it for a few hours; they're finally plastering over that hole you made last month." I blinked, then let out a guffaw of laughter as I remembered. I'd neglected to turn my safety on when I was done shooting, and it had fired off outside the designated 'shooting zone', the bullet ricocheting off the floor an inch from my foot and embedding itself in one of the walls. Needless to say, no one had been very happy with me.

"So you came down here to shove that down my fucking throat again?" I asked, wiping a few tears of mirth from my eyes.

"Among other things. I also had to turn in a ballistics report, but with that done; is it such a crime to want to visit an old friend?" he cocked his head, putting on an innocent look.

"I'll tell you where to stick your 'old frie-"

**"DANNA, UN!" **we froze, mid-banter, as a happy shriek seemed to cut the air, all the way through my door.

"What in the name of-" I broke off, already at the door, and poked my head out, seeing Homicide's secretary blinking rather perturbedly at the scene taking place in front of us.

"Oh, hey Blondie." 'Blondie' didn't seem to notice me, as he was too busy glomping a wide-eyed Sasori, who had dropped a couple of folders in his shock. I didn't blame him, really, but you'd think he'd be used to this by now.

Blondie, AKA Iwamoto Deidara, was Red's boyfriend, and if you thought Kisame and I were opposites, you don't know nothing yet. Deidara's got enough energy to power all of Rain for a week straight, at least. He's a little shorter than me, curvy for a dude, with long, flowing blonde hair that he keeps up in a weird ponytail, which looks like some strange yellow banner when he moves. His eyes are a bright blue, but he usually keeps his long bangs over the left one, and he has a thin scar over each palm that look kind of like closed mouths. The badges of arson, as it were. I was never told how, but apparently he got them during his first escapade with fire.

The two met about a year ago when Deidara was arrested for setting fire to his own house; homemade fireworks or something like that. Sasori had been dropping something off with the Chief when an officer walked Blondie past, having just been aquitted some way or another, and Deidara stopped, wrote his number on a slip of paper, and handed it to Red with a 'call me, un'. I'd never seen Sasori blush in my life, so of course I'd had to rag on him for it for weeks.

"Hida-kun! How are you, un?" I groaned as the pyromaniacal artist turned on me, grinning from ear to ear. Sasori shot me a 'help me, for the love of God' look, still caught in a strangle-hold hug, and I flashed him a smirk. Blondie was annoying as fuck, but anybody who enjoyed making Red's life hell was worth tolerating in my book.

"Doin' fine, but it looks like Red's about to pass out there." Sasori gasped as he was released, glaring at me while I laughed my ass off. Kisame came out behind me and waved, grinning. Sasori promptly urged the two into conversation, anything to keep his bones safe, and as Blondie started motoring about his latest art exhibition, he turned to me, picking up his folders from the floor.

"I suppose I should be thanking you for the rescue, but I won't considering how much you enjoy watching me suffer." I grinned, handing him a couple of papers near my feet.

"It makes my fucking day." I agreed, causing him to snort derisively. "I dunno how you deal with the little spazzmat, honestly."

"He can be a little...overbearing, but-"

"-the sex is fantastic?" he coughed awkwardly, and I laughed again.

"That aside, he does have redeeming qualities. I did come down here for a reason, though." he brandished a manila folder at me. "This is the autopsy report on the old man you found this morning. I normally would have just sent it up to you via a tech and save myself the torture, but I found something very interesting I thought you'd want to know post-haste."

"Yeah?" I raised a brow, jerking my head towards my cramped little office. "Blue'll keep Blondie occupied for a bit." Sasori nodded, and followed me inside. Seating myself on my desk, I leaned back on my hands, kicking my feet like a little kid. "So?" Red sat down in the chair previously occupied by Kisame, perfectly proper in every way.

"You noted his throat was distended at the scene, if I recall?"

"Konan noticed it first, but yeah, I did. What the hell was it?" Sasori's eyes dropped to the folder as he opened it, pulling out a glossy new photograph, the image upon which I couldn't see from my angle.

"This." he commented simply, turning to photo around so that I could see it. My stomach promptly plummeted into my shoes.

There before me was the image of a Jashinite rosary, not flawless like mine, but slightly pitted and much older looking, chain coiled underneath it as it rested on a metal tray.

My hand unconciously strayed to my shirt, palm resting over the symbol against my bare chest under the cloth. Sasori noted the movement, nodding curtly as he put the photo away.

"Exactly. I remember once hearing that you had that custom-made, correct?" I nodded, feeling slightly vague. Of course he'd have one, bu why the _fuck _would it be shoved down his throat?! "Do you remember who made it?" My eyes snapped back to Sasori, trying to register the question, then I shook my head.

"Nah, I don't. That was fuckin' years ago, dude. My memory doesn't go back that far." I flashed a grin, which quailed under the ginger's next comment.

"Not surprising, considering the range I assume your IQ to be in." the barest hint of a smirk graced his features, and I growled predatorially.

"Fuck you! Just-just fuck you!" I chucked a pen at his head childishly, which he dodged, then scrambled for a bigger office utensil to turn into a projectile. By the time I had gotten my hands on a stapler, however, he was already out the door. "Damn." I felt strangely dissapointed as I put the stapler back down, regrettably unthrown.

Pouting angrily, I threw myself back into my chair, glaring at the folders Sasori had dropped off before his hasty retreat. If looks could kill, those folders would be writhing in agony in a swath of white hot fire.

Oh yeah. I'm just that awesome.

Flipping through them, I yawned, stretching my legs beneath the table. The first folder was the report on the woman. Most of it I'd heard from Sasori already, and that much was written in medical jargon anyway. However, there was an inventory of her personal effects, which I pulled out to examine.

High-end clothing; Gucci, Calvin Klein, Forzieri; all that stuff. No wonder one of the officers recognized her; I don't keep up with the news or tabloids, but she seemed the type to be high up in some company. Hidemichi Atsue... I racked my brain for some sort of recognition, squinting my eyes in concentration. Nothing. I shook my head, scanning further down the list; expensive jewelery (Not everyday someone buys themself a Bvlgari ring on a whim), posh purse. Ah! There we go; a wallet. And inside, identification. Ame driver's license, credit and debit, Versace membership card, the works.

I grunted, stuffing everything back into the folder and getting up, tucking it under my arm like one of those old guys would a newspaper. Kicking my door open with the usual dramatic flair, I strolled out of my office, glad of the open air, and took the elevator up to forensics, dreading what was to come.

All glass and metal instruments; typical forensics flashiness; the name plate on his door was hardly neccesary. And the black sharpie line through his real name, accompanied by a scribbled TOBI! wasn't neccesary at all. I pushed open the door, stepping into the glass box, and closed myself in with the beast, holding a certain sense of foreboding.

"Hey." I greeted without enthusiasm, giving a quick wave to the kid-ish man dancing around to the music blasting on his iPod.

"Hidan-san! Hi! Tobi is so happy to see you!" I groaned as Uchiha Obito, proclaimed 'Tobi', slammed into me, hugging me tightly and burying his face in my arm.

Tobi, the resident computer geek, is a little shorter than I am, fair-skinned, with short, spiky black hair that would be compeltely unmanageable if it was any longer. His face is almost always concealed by a swirly orange mask that looks kind of like a snail with a single eye-hole, through which you can just see a rich, black, puppy-like eye.

"Yeah, right back at ya, seeing you is the fucking high point of my day." I grumbled, extracting myself from his arms. "Damnit! Take off that retarded mask! Its fucking creepy!" Tobi pouted as he relinquished his grip on me; I couldn't see it, but I could sense it. He paused for a moment, plucking at the sleeve of his lab coat with a black-gloved hand, then reluctantly reached up and pushed the mask sideways, so that it was lodged crookedly on the side of his head, revealing the baby-ish face of Obito, gauze-covered eye and all.

Tobi/Obito's a bit of a weirdo, if you haven't already guessed. And yes, he was related to the Weasel. His cousin, actually. He was actually pretty normal from what I hear, up until about ten years ago. The Weasel took out some weird sort of rage on the poor kid, and his eye was so damaged he had to have it amputated. He got seriously messed up by it, and some how managed to develop severe dyslexia, caused by brain damage or something. He's stuck with the mentality of an eight year old, even though he was eleven when it happened, and he's pretty much everyone's little brother. He started calling himself 'Tobi' shortly after the incident, a result of the dyslexia, and its just sorta his thing. He's actually really smart, apparently, and he desperately wanted to get into the department, do some good in the world or whatever, so he was let in. He's probably the most fucking annoying bastard I've ever met, worse than Blondie, even.

"Did Hidan-san come to visit Tobi?" he looked hopeful, with the whole glittering eye bit and everything; most people would be ashamed to crush him, but I don't think he's ever really sad. I've cussed him out pretty good a couple of times, and he bounces back like a champ. Seriously, it takes him about five seconds to be giggling again. I kid you not.

"Fuck no. I got some shit for you to run." Predictably, Tobi pouts for about half a second, then grabs the offered file and plops down in his swivel chair, rolling across the room to his computer and grinning like a maniac. "Hidemichi Atsue. Run her credit cards, see where she's been in the past twenty-four hours." -before promptly falling out of his chair.

"What? You know her?" Tobi sat up, his mask even more askew, and nodded vigorously.

"Doesn't Hidan-san watch TMZ?" he asked. "Or read People, or something?"

"Fuck no!" I snarled, rolling my eyes. "Why the hell would I be interested in that shitty smut?" Tobi sighed dramatically, plopping back into his chair and pressing a couple of keys. Some sort of scan began to run on his computer screen.

"Astsue-san is the CEO of Kunai Korps!" He proclaimed. I blinked in surprise, raising a brow.

"The weapons company?" I asked, remembering the knife-shaped logo embossed on the butt of my own gun. Seriously; a chick like that, owning a weapons firm? I suddenly became painfully aware of just why Konan was worrying so much about the press. It wasn't just the fact that I was on the investigation team, or that we might be dealing with a possible pattern-killer; the woman was famous.

Oh, damn.

"Yup!" Tobi dragged me out of my reverie loudly, then tugged on my arm, gesturing for me to look at his computer. A list of recent transactions had appeared there; her credit card records. The farmer's market early morning yesterday; probably an organic-food freak. Shopping trip to Mervyn's around noon, P.F Chang's for a late lunch around three, and...

"The bank?" I asked, looking at the final transaction on the list; a withdrawal of several thousand dollars from Ame National. "Damn, splurge much?" I mumbled to myself, examining the quadruple-digit sum. "Fine, then. I hafta make a deposit anyway." I straightened, picking up the file again and making to leave. "Later, douche-fag." I quiped over my shoulder as I closed the door, not quite in time to miss out on the ridiculously high-pitched 'Tobi is a good boy!'

XXX

I was the one in the driver's seat this time, despite how dangerous Konan has deemed me behind the wheel. So what if I close my eyes for a few seconds now and then? I've never killed anybody, and I reminded her of this for about the fiftieth time as we pulled into the parking lot of Ame National Bank, rolling my eyes as she gave a gasp of relief. I chucked the keys at her before stepping out of the car, slamming the door with my foot.

"Not yet." She growled, flattening her frazzled hair. "Only a matter of time." I made a 'psh' sound, but didn't deny it, stuffing my hands in my pockets and walking towards the front doors, staring up at the sky, which looked kinda purple through my shades.

There were several clerks on duty, the foremost of which being an annoyingly chipper blonde that looked remarkably like Deidara, with legs that went on forever, exposed by capris with slits up the sides. There's no way there isn't some sort of dress code against that. I'd totally have been checking her out if I was straight, but as it iwas, I was groaning, because even before I got within a reasonable talking distance she was smiling at me dazzlingly, leaning over her counter a little more suggestively than neccesary, offering a significant view from her low-cut, violet shirt. Fuck.

"Hey there, what can I do for you?" she asked when Konan and I stopped in front of her, batting her eyelashes. She was either bold, or a total slut, though I can't claim to not have been either at one time or another. Still annoys me, though. Konan too, apparently, because she promptly slid her hand into the back pocket of my jeans and maneuvered my own to rest low on her waist. I reminded myself to buy her a beer or something later.

"RCPD." I flashed her a threatening grin (Yes, I can do that), and showed her my badge with the hand that wasn't sort-of copping a feel on my sort-of sister (I'd block out this experience later). "I'd like to ask you a few questions. Were you here yesterday, around this time?" She'd quailed back a little bit, but she still managed the guts to squint at Konan in irritation. Out of my periphs I saw Konan stick the tip of her tongue out, flashing her tongue piercing, and wink smugly. Let it not be said that I'm the only asshole in the family.

"Yes, I was. Why do you ask, Officer?" McSlutty asked, examining her acryllic nails lazily. I excused myself from Konan's grasp a bit more politely than I'm used to so I could gain access to my pocket, removing a photograph.

"This woman come in yesterday?" I asked, showing her Hidemichi's autopsy shot. She blinked, then gasped, covering her mouth with a well-manicured hand.

"Y-yes! That's...that's Atsue-san, isn't it? The woman who owns the weapon's company? Yes, she has an account here, and she came in yesterday to make a withdrawal. I was the one who helped her, actually. She's dead?" I nodded, and she gasped again, hand resting at her collar-bone.

"Can you describe the event, Ms.-?" Konan asked, prompting the clerk with a hand twirl.

"Yamanaka. Yamanaka Ino." she replied, biting her lip briefly. "Actually, our policy on such large withdrawals taken into account, I wasn't the last one to see her. She had to complete the transaction with my boss, Yonkamen-sama. You'll have to speak to him, though I don't think he's taking clients at the moment."

"Well we ain't clients." I really hate having to hold back on the profanity for work's sake. I usually don't hold out long. "I wanna see this guy, _now_." Ino-slut shuffled her feet.

"Officer, I can't really-"

"Its alright, Yamanaka-san. I've got a few minutes." A deep baritone interupted her, the sound seeming to reverberate in my head, like strong bass from boom speakers. "Officers. I assume as such that you will not waste my time?" I turned around to look at the source of the irritable voice, intent on giving the bastard a piece of my mind,

Only to have my breath knocked out of my lungs like a blow to the solar plexus.

Oh. My. Jashin.

* * *

**So? Watcha think? Good? Bad? Planning on reviewing? Speaking of reviews, I'm going to be true to my self-promise and respond to 'em. Here ya go:**

**Sado-Masochism;; I'm a strong believer in portraying characters as IC as possible, so I'll have to tell you that that ain't Kakuzu. You may have noted by reading some other people's reviews, but that be Zetsu. ^.^ Thanks for the compliments anyhow; you're giving me a swelled head. XD And yeah, I was morbidly fascinated by the cannibalism factor as well.**

**Nisroc;; What do _you_ think?**

**Charlie O.;; Well, thank you very much. Let it never be said that the infamous plot bunnies do not have their uses. XD And this is supposed to be a fanfic, but nonetheless I have somewhat ommited the Japanese phrases, etc. Thanks for the tip, and sorry I couldn't give you some more Kuzu-chan this chapter.**

**OMG!;; Indeed. He be teh awesome, don't he? Taller than Kisame, too, if that's possible. XD**

**Skydreia;; I do loves meh suspense, I do.**

**Akatsuki-Hidan-fangirl;; Thanks very much. ^.^**

**L's Lollipop;; First of all, I love the username. XDD Gave me a good laugh. L equals hotness. Secondly: I've heard of BB, but I never watched beyond the episode where L died. T_T Thirdly; there's yer update, and I'll pump out another one as soon as upcoming finals allow.**

**Schnubbi;; A common lament. *points to earlier reviews* And thank you! I do try.**

**Dani-Ookami;; *cough***

**By the way, Yonkamen means 'Four Masks'. Fitting? I thought so.**


	4. IV

**To be blunt and to the point, my muse died. However! I have officially beaten that little roadblock into submission, tied it to my bed, and played vicious mind games with it until it spilled its guts dry, and so, my muse lives once more. This chapter's a bit shorter than the ones previous, but you do get to meet Kuzu-chan in this one, so I hope that makes up for it. Enjoy!**

**Don't own nuffin', sorry.**

* * *

"Follow me, we'll discuss whatever it is you need in my office." I stood stock still for a moment, watching the retreating back, or rather, back_side_, of what was perhaps the most fucking attractive man I had ever seen, barely regaining myself in time to look semi-natural under Konan's scrutinizing eyes. I missed the smug look she shot me as she walked ahead, too busy trying to get my breath back.

The entire way through the lobby, to a glass door labelled 'employees only', and down a hall to the dude's office, I couldn't take my eyes off him. He had to be at _least _six foot ten, if not more; probably somewhere in his late thirties, early forties, with darkly tanned skin that marked him out clearly as a native of Taki; powerfully built, and dressed smartly in a black Armani suit, white formal shirt underneath, and dark leather loafers. His business attire was, surprisingly, not put off in the least by his long, coarse-looking bracken-colored hair, which was secured in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck, ending just between his shoulder-blades.

What had captured my attention the most, however, was his face. More specifically, his eyes. They were the most intense shade of green I had ever seen, and almost seemed to have no pupils; a domineering and powerful emerald that sent a shiver down my spine as we entered his office and he turned to fix them upon me. So fixating were they that I almost failed to notice the white cloth mask he had secured over the lower half of his features.

"Sit." It was obviously meant as a polite suggestion, and yet it felt more like a command, and with those hypnotic, solemn eyes boring into mine, I couldn't help but obey. Konan did the same, and we were silent for a moment as the man seated himself behind his desk, interlacing his fingers and resting his hands on the mahogany wood before him, looking between us briefly. The name plate on his desk read 'Yonkamen Kakuzu, Bank Manager'.

"Now; what can I help you with, Officers? I believe I heard something about Hidemichi-san mentioned?" His rumbling voice broke me out of my trance, and my immediate reaction was, as it is with a lot of things, to be _pissed off_. There was _no, fuckin', way _I was gonna let this guy turn me into a stuttering idiot. So he was hot; so was I, and I also had a reputation for being a royal asshole.

"You're damn right, you did. She's dead, and by our account _you _were the last one to see her." I put on my best scowling glare. "So maybe we can save ya the embarrassment of going downtown, and you'll answer our questions outright, yeah?" His brows furrowed slightly, a spark flickering in the depths of his eyes, but otherwise he maintained a calm composure. I still felt a sense of satisfaction, though I had to hold back a growl when Konan elbowed me in the ribs.

"I'm not sure I like what you're insinuating, Officer." he responded, and his voice had a hint of venom in it. "But Hidemichi-san was a valuable customer of mine, so...what would you like to know?" I opened my mouth to speak, but Konan beat me to the punch.

"I beg your pardon, but before we begin with any serious questions, might I ask about your mask? I mean no offense, but it is a bit of an abnormality, Yonkamen-san." This 'Kakuzu' guy turned his eyes onto Konan, and his irritation seemed to simmer down slightly at her respectful tone.

"None taken; I understand the curiosity." He paused for a moment, eyeing us both, then answered. "I was in one of the Great Wars, and obtained a wound that I prefer to conceal. The scars tend to make people uncomfortable, and when one works with prospective customers every day, it isn't good for profit to scare them off. I'm sure you understand." I took a moment to examine the mask, trying to imagine what grisly scars might lie beneath, unable to help envying the man for being in the war, which had ended when I was about eight. Most people would think that strange, but war is all _about _killing people; it would have been paradise for me.

"Of course." Konan replied, bowing her head slightly. "That aside, would you mind describing to us your meeting with Hidemichi-san yesterday? Did she seem nervous or distressed?"

"Not paticularly." Kakuzu shook his head minutely. "She claimed that the withdrawal was being made for the installation of a pool in her yard, as a down payment. She was calm, composed, didn't look particularly ruffled. Her shirt was on backwards, I noted, but that seems an insignificant detail. She had gotten into a small altercation with Yamanaka-san when she was made aware that she would have to speak with me, but this is not unusual. Hidemichi-san isn't the only person who is not particularly fond of me."

"I bet." I shot under my breath, though just loud enough for him to hear. Louder, I asked; "Any reason why?"

"You are not a very socially adept person, are you, Officer?" he asked cooly, earning a snicker from Konan, and a snarl from me. He cleared his throat gruffly before answering me. "When Hidemichi-san was just beginning with Kunai Korps she requested a rather substantial loan, and I declined. This set her back in her goal by several years, and she never really forgave me. She was cordial and proper, but avoided dealing with me when she could. I am generally a good judge of the sense in financial escapades, so naturally, there is quite a company of those with such grudges against me." I mouthed the word 'motive' as inconspicuously as I could manage when Kakuzu took a second to rub the bridge of his nose, causing Konan to roll her eyes and huff silently.

"You know of anyone _else _that might want to kill Hidemichi, then?" I emphasized, the 'else', sneering just slightly. The banker raised a brow at me in an irritating manner, returning his hand to his desk.

"Well, _Officer_, I would assume there are quite a lot of people who might have, as you so kindly put it, _motive_." He flashed me a condescending look of the eyes. "She was, after all, the CEO of a weapon's corporation. One that, might I add, ships their wares into almost every economically-prosperous country on the map. I'm sure you could be doing something substantially more productive than interrogating her _banker_." I felt a tongue of flame leap within my chest, seething angrily. Who the hell did this bastard think he was?! I mean, sure, he was probably right, but still, I was a fucking _police officer_ for Jashin's sake!

"Hey; fuck you, buddy!" I leaned forward in my chair, grasping the arms tight enough to turn my pale knuckles even whiter. "As far as I'm concerned, you're guilty until proven innocent; you got that?!" Konan hissed at me angrily, squeezing my arm hard enough that I could feel the bones creak. Kakuzu was dead-pan calm, with a skeptical expression that fucking _pissed me off_.

"Guilty? Pardon me, _Officer_, but all you have on me is that I saw Hidemichi-san over five hours before her death. Now, it doesn't take a genius to know that isn't much, so you shouldn't have a problem with it." I could almost _feel _him smirking under that Jashin-be-damned mask of his. "Of course, I wouldn't put it past your type. Now," He rose to his feet, and I could almost see an ominous shadow cast over me. "-I believe our _conversation _is at an end. Have a nice day, Officers." He bowed respectfully to Konan, then ushered us out of the room, my mouth kept shut only by the crushing grip my foster-sister had on my upper arm. We were shut out by a crisp _click_ of the jamb, somehow more forceful than any amount of slamming could be.

It wasn't until we were safely outside that Konan gave me a firm shove, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared me down coldly.

"You just had to, didn't you?" She asked, narrowing her eyes in fury. I lunged forward so that our faces were inches apart, stance aggressive, with a glare to match her own.

"Fuck yes I did; the guy was an asshole! Like hell was I gonna take that kinda shit from anybody, let alone some self-righteous, Armani-wearing, condescending douchebag like him!"

"You forgot to add ridiculously attractive, and possibly in possession of information that might aid our investigation."

"Yeah, sure, but-_wait just a fucking minute! _What the hell was that supposed to mean?!" Konan smirked in that infuriating, 'big-sister' way she does, planting a hand on her hip.

"Well, you _did _notice what brand of suit he was wearing." She commented smugly, urging me towards the car. I spluttered indignantly, barely managing to regain my composure after the engine was running, and the stereo blasting; Konan had herded me into the passenger seat, I noticed.

"That-that doesn't mean shit! Its...I dunno, that faggy gay fashion-sense you women are always envying or something!"

"Hidan, we both know you don't have 'gay fashion-sense', which, by the way, I _would _kill to have. You don't even have gay-_dar_. I wasn't even aware you knew the difference between Armani and Calvin Klein to begin with." She backed out of the lot, starting back towards the precinct. "You can at least admit that he was attractive; I saw those bedroom eyes you gave him. Before the 'stabbity-stab-stab' glare, I mean." I rolled my eyes, temper simmering down a little bit, though, just to be spiteful I resolutely clunked my feet down on the dash.

"....Fine. Yeah, whatever; the guy was hot, alright? Happy? S'not like it fuckin' proves anything."

"You should have pouted like that while we were still there; you might have gotten a phone number out of him." I proceeded to nearly choke on my own spit, which, believe me, _isn't _a fun experience.

"What the fuck?! Fuck no!" I shouted over Bon Jovi belting out 'You Give Love A Bad Name' on the stereo, ignoring the double-expletive. "I said he was hot, but that doesn't change the fact that he was a fucking bastard!" The bluenette shrugged noncommitally, turning down the radio a bit, though she was obviously intending to tune me out in lieu of being serenaded by Jon. We lapsed into a silence ridden with skillful guitar riffs; one in which I mentally slapped myself for trying to be poetic.

I suddenly realized I'd forgot to make that deposit I'd meant to.

XXX

I punched out a little after six. I usually stay a lot later; I mean, its not like I have someone to come home to. My cat, sure, but she's usually out and about the neighborhood until late. However, tonight, even though I was technically off-duty, I would still be working. Well, sort of; I figured I could do to make the visit back to Karei no Ame to talk with that waitress the bartender mentioned.

I pulled up to my apartment complex around six-thirty, gunning my bike the last stretch of asphalt before sliding into my usual parking space, cutting the engine.

"Like a fucking glove..." I murmured to myself, slicking a loose strand of hair back with my palm as I pocketed the key, trotting over to the door and shouldering it open. The buzzers work, but there's really no point to 'em anymore; the lock on the front door has been broken for months, and to be honest, I don't really care. If some meth-head decides to break in and steal my neighbor's shit, too bad for them, and heaven help 'em if they try to rob _me_.

I pounded up the stairs to my floor, smirking in nostalgia as I spotted my door, littered with Kamiko's scratch-lines, and a few of my own, if you get my drift. Sliding in and turning the key, the door opened with a _snick_, though it took a little 'convincing' to get it wide enough to allow me entrance.

I yawned, despite the fact that it wasn't even nine yet, and shed my jacket, tossing it carelessly over the back of the couch. My undershirt soon followed, and I was just about to throw myself down on the couch for a quick nap before going to the club when I heard something scratching at the sliding-glass door leading to my small balcony. I looked up, spotting Kamiko through the glass, something small and furry trapped in her jaws.

Grinning, I padded over after kicking off my shoes, sliding open the barrier and allowing the cat to drop a dead, and thoroughly mangled thing that might once have been a mouse at my feet.

"Damn! What _is_ this thing?" I commented snarkily, sweeping the tabby into my arms and holding her to my bare chest. "That's a good girl..." I cooed, rubbing under her chin with my index finger. "Who's Daddy's little axe-murderer? You are!" Needless to say, if anyone had been there to see me like this, I would have been thoroughly humiliated. One of the multitude of reasons I live alone.

Kamiko purred against my torso as I nudged the corpse out onto the balcony, shutting the door with my elbow and returning to my slightly ratty couch, gently maneuvering myself so that I could lie down without disturbing her. She settled herself on top of me, kneading my skin with her claws, adding a few new scratches to my myriad of scars, a good deal of them from her.

I grabbed the remote from the coffee table with one hand, stroking Kamiko's ears with the other, and flipped on the TV, trying to find a decent station. Dexter was on, so I left it there, only paying half attention. The guy sorta reminds me of myself, but the show tends to overdramatize alot, so I don't watch it very often. I mean, for example; before the Weasel, I'd _never_ met another serious repeat killer, serial or no, in my life, and Dexter's got a new one to deal with every couple of months. I would get _so_ fuckin' pissed off if I had to take shit like that.

I watched for about half an hour as Dexter was forced to capture this black cop I couldn't remember the name of, and took him to some shack in the Everglades. I decided the episode was boring when it became apparent that Dexter couldn't kill the bastard, turning the television off in a lazy fashion, and looking down at Kamiko, who was purring gently, curled up in a tight little ball.

Sensing my gaze after a few moments, she cracked open her eyes, and the first thought that occured to me when I spotted the brilliant green of her irises was this; _that banker dude had eyes like that_... I snorted derisively at the thought, growling in remembrance of the bastard from earlier in the day. And he was just that: a bastard. All well-dressed and professional.

"I can't believe some of the shit I put up with, 'Miko." I told her vaguely, taking to staring at the roof. "I mean, you should have seen this guy; drop dead sexy, I swear, but he was the rudest, most annoying, condescending little fucker I've ever met! Scratch little, actually; he was almost as big as Blue, for Jashin's sake! I mean, come on! What guy that big is into _banking_?" Kamiko gave a rolling 'mrrrow', as if to express sympathetic aggreement, laying her chin on her paws and arching her spine into my palm, tail curling neatly about her paws. Encouraged, I continued, disregarding the fact that I was conversing with a cat; sad, yes, but very effective.

"And he wears this creepy-ass mask over the lower half of his face; scars or some shit. Says he was in the last Great War. Certainly got the muscles for it, I'll tell you that; might've given me a run for my money if Konan hadn't dragged me out of there so quick. I swear to Jashin, 'bitch ruins all my fun." I blinked as Kamiko kneaded her black paws against my throat, meowing sharply; I could almost hear her saying; 'You sure are talking about him a lot. You sure he merits this much attention?'

I really need to stop humanizing her; its fucking creepy sometimes. I mean, for all I know, she could mean; 'Shut up. Want sleep. Meow.'

"Yeah, well, I'm entitled to a bit of ranting!" I put in defensively. "I mean, shit, the guy was an asshole!" I put my hands out, palms facing her in a placating gesture, then realized what I was doing and dropped them promptly.

Yeah, creepy cat-whisperer time done now.

I picked her up gently, ignoring her irritable hiss and warning nip, placing her on the couch as I rolled off of it, strolling off to my room before she could think to start clawing my legs. Bipolar little freak...

I threw on a slightly less casual outfit than I normally would; I call it my Bad-Ass Cop Digs. Makes people pay more attention to you, you know? Anyway, however tempting it was to just pick up some random dude while I was out, I decided it would be better not to dress for clubbing. Besides, what sane man with my...interests would hang out at a titty bar?

Okay, maybe it wasn't quite _that_ bad, but you get my point.

Rolling my shoulders as I slipped my feet back into my shoes, I ruffled Kamiko's ears on my way out the door, slamming and locking it behind me.

And away we go.

* * *

**I wanted this chapter to be longer, but as I said, there was muse perishing, so I ended it early. Don't worry-I'll make sure the next one is nice and long. =3 Don't expect anything too prompt though-I'm a notorious procrastinator.**

**8Silent Dreams8- Oh, I know how that feels. XD I'm beating my brain regularly, I'll have you know. If that bitch knows what's best for it, it'll start spoutin' inspiration quick. *lawls***

**Lecture- Isn't it just morbidly fascinating? I was reading after I'd typed it out, and I was like; "Damn...I'm messed up." Thanks for your praise, by the way. ^.^ I can feel my head swelling already.**

**OMG!- Tobi's the shiz, and don't you forget it. I maintain a firm state of denial in that Tobi is actually Obito, and not Madara. DX Fuck Madara, I likes mah Obito-ness.**

**L's Lollipop- I end up saying it in every-day speech sometimes. XD People give me weird looks. I'll have to check that out, thanks.**

**Noone- Well, there you go.**

**some random person- Mmhmm. I wanted to make sure they were all in there. =3**

**Akatsuki-Hidan-fangirl- Why, didn't you know? When one leaves cliffies, one ensures that readers come back for more. . . Oh noes, I've said to much...**

**Nisroc- I'm the Shikamaru of author-ness I'm afraid. I do try, though. =D And thank you. Keeping them both IC has been an important goal for me from the beginning.**

**skydreia- .......Its god? *cackles madly* I created a deity! *does a li'l dance* Sweet. =3**

**AmidnightWish- Ohoho, you naughty person. So /dirty/! x.x I have planned a scene in an interrogation room, actually. Look forward to it. XD**

**Schnubbi- Maybe not love, not yet, but it'll happen. *rubs hands together deviously* Anyhoo, I have their second meeting planned out. Next chapter, I do believe.**

**Friglit- You are thinking of a different fic, yes, and no, the bank man is Kakuzu. *points up* And yes, I am quite pleased with myself with the whole police thing. *grins cockily* And I am certainly glad that I am not epic fail. ^.^ Thank you very much,**


End file.
